


Warrior

by sabbig



Series: Cullen & Ganina [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Seriously... I'll eventually get to all kinds of things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-11-26 20:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabbig/pseuds/sabbig
Summary: Ganina hasn't had to deal with this much responsibility since she thought she was going to be an inheritor of the Trevelyan family fortune and prestige. She'd gotten used to being nobody, accountable to no one. She'd gotten used to her found family, and then the explosion at the Conclave changed all of the plans she'd made, and took everyone she thought she'd had away.I have a lot of this written, but a lot is still shady. I'll post as regularly as I can, but I'm also not super solid on how things are going to go. I also have a sneaky suspicion that this is going to be obscenely long.





	1. Do you ever get that feelin' that you can't shift the tide

“I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

  
Wow.

He was an arse.

Maybe, okay, that was justified. Ganina couldn't even bring herself to be mad. It was all still to raw; too overwhelming. She didn’t understand how she was the only survivor of that explosion… how could she expect anyone else to think anything other than the worst? That she had caused it?

Arse’s jab wasn’t unfair.

But still, the fact that her improvised family was dead still seemed to ring untrue, somehow. Like some grand joke that someone was going to reveal any minute, and Ymbert and the boys would appear from behind that toppled wall over there. She’d gone from having about the best deal she could hope for, to being surrounded by enemies.

People she had been hoping to help. Or join.

People she couldn’t even blame for calling her ‘traitor’.

It was all rather unbelievable. And then there was the hole in the sky.

Fucking weird.

She couldn’t bring herself to think of it at all at that point. Just focus on what was at hand; demons, battle, whatever Cassandra and the Arse were saying.

She tried to focus on their conversation, but then the breach rumbled in the sky again, and odd flashes of light sparked in the clouds. Her hand answered with a staticy tingle. Speaking of weird.

Prompted by that, the Seeker grabbed Ganina's arm. Any time she may have spared to dwell on this chaos was quickly running out. There was a battle. There were demons. There were people here now who she could still take care of. At least the stern Seeker had allowed her to stay armed. That was the one way she knew she could help. Maybe prove--at the least--that she wasn’t a traitor.

She blew out a deep breath and noticed how nice the Arse’s eyes were—light, honey colored—but his face was lined and drawn. She wasn’t sure how old he was, but part of her envied the composure with which he surveyed the chaos and calmly reported to Cassandra.

While the two members of the Inquisition spoke, she found herself watching his mouth move. It sunk into a frown when he wasn’t speaking, and there were heavy lines there, like he was accustomed to frowning often.

She shook her head again. Here. Now. There is a battle. There are demons. Focus. The sky was tinged that sickly green, the air was filled with ash and that cloyingly sweet smell of death.  Cassandra mentioned the rift again. Ganina forced herself to pay attention to words once more.

“The way to the temple should be clear.” The dirty blond spoke to Cassandra like a friend; familiar. He waved a few soldiers past with a dismissive air. Was he in charge somehow? That air of command was nice in all of this despair and chaos. She envied it, craved that composure. She felt like a mess, seconds from breaking down.

“Then we’d best move quickly.” Cassandra pushed her forward, and their group began to make their way through the throng of soldiers running away. Ganina had barely been able to focus on anything they’d discussed just now… but that was never a good sign. Men in armor running away? Was this rift different than the other one? They mentioned it was the first, the biggest.

Ganina still couldn’t quite tear her eyes off the blond man. He nodded a quick farewell to Cassandra and began jogging backwards with his soldiers.

“Maker watch over you!” He called back as he helped an injured man hobble along.

“You okay there?” Varric’s droll voice pulled her out of some sort of reverie that had no place existing in an ash and snow covered battlefield.

Maker. The last time she had been here, it had been lovely, and she had felt so uncomfortable. She had grown too unused to’ pleasant society’, as her father would have called it. Complete with an eyeroll and mockingly Orlesian hand gesture or sloppy curtsy.

Why had she dragged them all here? What in the hell had possessed her to think she could make a difference?

“Hey, Freckles!” The dwarf rapped his knuckles against her shield.

“Oh!” She looked down at him. “Hey there. You’re talking to me, huh?”

“Wow. Where were you, Freckles?” He asked grabbing her arm and pushing her after Cassandra.

“Oh, nowhere.”

“Yeah. ‘nowhere’”. He repeated. Was that the best retort she could come up with? Really? Why was this dwarf so… Ugh. Ganina was annoyed by how much she liked his stupid little blond head, too. She couldn’t seriously snap at him.

“Well, nowhere you’d want to be.” She tried to soften her tongue a little bit.

“Hah. Can’t argue that point, Freckles. I’m here.”

Then the rift exploded.

There were demons everywhere. The ground shook, and Ganina found herself throwing her shield arm at body after body of oddly squishy demons. It wasn’t until she made her way into the pit, here surrounding what used to be the center of the Temple of Sacred ashes, that she fell into that odd trance that a battle drug out of her. Strike, block. strike, dodge, the tingly invincibility of a mage's barrier. This felt right, at least. Maybe once all these demons were felled, she'd turn back towards the field behind them, back where Cassandra had dragged her from, and Ymbert and the boys would run up, laughing at the joke they'd pulled on her. 

She didn't have much more time to consider the charred edges of the corpse lying where she'd last seen Ymbert, as the massive demon dropped from the giant green rift, just thirty feet above. 


	2. Everything I couldn’t Control

“ Ah, Lady Trevelyan, We’re glad you’ve arrived.”

Ganina couldn’t stop the knee-jerk reaction to turn around and look for someone else. For a second, she expected to see Agnes standing there, with her baby pigtails and a gown with a high ruffled collar.  

Who the fuck was the Antivan lady talking to? It couldn’t have been Ganina.

But… no. They were all looking at her. Even Cassandra.

Maker’s balls, this was all too much. No one would have called her Trevelyan with Ymbert around.

“ I’m sorry. Do you mean me?”

“ Why, yes!” The Antivan turned to the woman in the hood with her head tilted. “I thought you said…” Oh, no. Someone was doing  research.  Ganina really didn’t want to hear what the Hood had dug up.

“ I’m sorry,” Ganina cut in again. “I haven’t gone by Trevelyan in years. Literally. Like, fifteen years.”

“ Do you prefer Dorner?” Hood finally spoke up. Ganina couldn’t decide if the woman was trying to be helpful, or if bringing up the Bann’s name was some sort of test. Her voice was so carefully neutral that she knew her response would be weighed and measured.

“ No, absolutely not.” She shook her head, and turned back to Cassandra with her mouth agape. “Why… I told you I’m Novak now. I’m Ganina Novak.” She knew the Seeker wasn’t the only one with any authority here in this Inquisition, but it seemed like she had begun to trust that Ganina at  least  wasn’t involved in the death of the Divine. Was she still the subject of an investigation?

“ But you agree that you  were a Trevelyan?” Hood asked. Something about the specific way she asked caught Ganina’s attention.

“ Yes.” She said carefully, slowly. “I was. But that was a long time ago, and everyone’s since agreed that I’m not. Not anymore. And it’s the same story with calling me Dorner. For a while I was just Ganina, but it was easier to have a last name here in Ferelden, so I’m Novak, now.”

From the way Hood nodded, Ganina assumed that her statement matched what had been dug up well enough for the time being. The way she was studied under that heavy purple hood left her no impressions that these few questions would be the end of it.

All her favorite skeletons would be let out of the wardrobe, it seemed. Hooray.

Ganina hoped she managed to appear properly grateful that Hood’s sparkling eyes only seemed to say ‘we’ll come back to this’, and not ‘you’re lying so I’m going to kill you’.

Introductions were made, and Ganina would endeavor to call ‘Hood’ by her real name: Leliana. Quite lovely. But the Orlesian accent, the spymaster theatrics, all of it reminded her too much of her mother, and she resolved to stay on the redhead’s good side.

Or. Just, as far away as possible.

The blond man from the ruins of the temple was there, and his name was Cullen. And the Antivan was Josephine.

And Ganina decided she’d gotten at least a touch of whiplash from how suddenly they were all sharing plans with her, assuming her cooperation, when just over twenty four hours ago, she’d been Cassandra’s prisoner and hours away from the chopping block. She couldn’t deny that she had originally come to them to help, but the near immediate reversal left her reeling.

She glanced down at the sparking, green blemish in her left hand. She supposed that her noble streak had gotten her in trouble again. Ymbert would have signed, but then gone along with whatever conviction she found.

And Ymbert and Colart had paid for it. Little Nik, too. That breakdown threatened again, but she looked at Cassandra—tall and proud—and told herself to get through it. She would. She would always get through it. Besides, she'd managed to hold of any real thought of them so far.

Nonetheless, Ganina still wanted to know what price she’d be paying. It didn’t seem to be execution would be her lot—not like she had feared this morning—but something told her that this would very quickly turn into much more than her original plan of ‘go to the Conclave, get a paycheck for helping some folks who have their heads on straight’. Fuck, was it really only this morning?

Nine years, and she never learned to listen to Ymbert.

And the good coat that he’d given her for her birthday was ruined in the fade.

Most of her clothing was scorched to ruin, or cut apart to help treat the wounds she sustained in the explosion and in the Fade. Most of her plate armor and all of her weapons were just… missing. Gone. She realized that was all she could focus on as the small crowd around her plotted and planned and discussed mages versus Templars and closing the breach. What she’d lost.

Ganina tried to focus, and gave her opinion when prompted.

When Cassandra finally let her out of the meeting, Ganina realized that her stomach was nearly howling. She hadn’t been much help, but she'd done it. She'd made it to the end of this day. She'd functioned nearly the entire time as well.

She was finally released from the meeting, and found her way to the food as quickly as she could.

She scarfed down a bowl of hearty stew from the Cook's tent and stood as close to the fire heating the great pot as the old lady would allow.

She'd need to work on finding some new gear and clothing soon. She'd been in Ferelden for years now, but had never spent much time in the mountains. The wind was wicked. It made her bones achy and sore in a way that had her feeling older than she should.

She went looking for something to outfit herself a little better, and immediately found Cassandra again once she wandered into the Chantry.

“ Seeker?”

The woman was reading, and immediately snapped her book shut and hid it away.

“ Yes?” The other woman still wasn't quite sure what to call her, Ganina noted. She hesitated before saying anything. At least she wasn't 'Prisoner’ anymore, Ganina decided. No appellation at all was certainly preferable to that.

“ I have a strange question for you, but I wasn't sure who else to ask.”

“ Oh, certainly.” She stood, looking relieved. “What did you need?”

“ Well. I went to the requisitions tent looking for clothing, and they gave me a pair of socks, and said I could come back if I needed new armor. But I need some… other clothing.” She held out her tunic sleeve and turned it so that the fraying char mark that ran up the back of her bicep was visible. “My shirt and pants are all like this, and my smalls are ruined. I need--”

“ Maker!” The dark-haired woman exclaimed, placing a hand over her mouth. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“ When?” She laughed, feeling overwhelmed. “I didn't think anyone would have time to care until now. I certainly didn’t. We we're a little busy, what with the demons and the rift, and interrogating me.”

“ Maker. Truly, I apologize, but I had to take all appropriate precautions.” Ganina nodded. She understood. She didn't like it, but Cassandra truly just seemed that thorough. Perhaps a bit tactless, also, but well intentioned nonetheless.

Perhaps that was why she felt more comfortable asking Cassandra where to find a pair of underwear than the bubbly ambassador, or certainly the spymaster.

“ I understand.” She smiled. “But that's not why I'm coming to you.”

The Seeker only watched her for a moment before finally relaxing and lowering her eyebrows from somewhere near her hairline. Her cheeks folded into a soft smile without her mouth quite moving.

“ I see.” She said before grabbing Ganina's arm and dragging her towards a small door near the room they had held her hostage in for that seemingly endless meeting. “Come here then.”

When she opened the door, she had to pause a moment before crossing the threshold behind the Seeker. There were three beds shoved in the separate corners, along with a large wardrobe, a few bookshelves, and a large desk.

Josephine was curled atop the furthest bed with a quill and inkpot, studiously attacking a large stack of letters atop her writing board.

The Commander was seated at the desk with sheaves upon sheaves of paper stacked neatly, referencing a large map spread across the middle most bed, taking notes and running in hands through his hair.

They both looked up when the Seeker opened the door, and while Josephine smiled, the Commander jumped up and began putting papers and maps away.

“ My apologies, I thought you were to be gone for another hour at least!” He muttered as he shuffled his maps and papers into an organized stack and moved them back over to the desk.

“ Goodness, Cullen, I'm sure that Cassandra won't mind.”

“ Indeed.” The Seeker answered with a crooked scowl that Ganina had a strange feeling that the woman didn't mean. “As long as you don't bury me in reports while I'm trying to sleep, have at it. I'm certainly here less than the rest of you.”

“ Wait,” Ganina spoke up from the doorway, “you all share a room?”

“ Only temporarily.” Josephine answered. “Come in though, you're letting the cold in.”

Ganina crossed inside and shut the door behind her. How strange for them all to inhabit a room together. The Commander's red face and hand sheepishly scrubbing the back of his neck communicated that he felt much the same.

“ This is only temporary, until a few more houses or such can be built. There isn't a lot of room here in Haven, particularly indoors, and with the amount of work that we need to coordinate, it seemed best that we tie up as few rooms as possible.” Josephine explained, signing her current letter with a flourish.

“ I would have been fine in a tent.” The blond man grumbled, sitting down with a huff.

“ Yes, I don't understand how you're upset about a real bed.” Josephine retorted, shaking her head.

“ I’m not upset; it’s just unnecessary.” He retorted.

“ What is important is the work we are doing. Cullen spends most of his time with the soldiers regardless of where he rests his head.” Cassandra added, opening up the wardrobe and pulling out a dusty canvas bag much like ones Ganina had used herself to carry her belongings across Thedas and back.

In an act of kindness that had immediately endeared her to the other warrior, Cassandra dumped out the bag on the freshly cleared out bed, and handed her a tunic and pair of trousers.

“ What are you two doing?” Josephine asked, tucking her feet under her to watch.

“ She…” Cassandra met her eyes, and slowly restarted her sentence. “Ganina, that is. Ganina barely survived the explosion at the Temple, and her clothes and armor are nearly ruined.”

“ I was cold with all the holes.” Ganina supplied, watching Cassandra's eyebrows sink low over her eyes.

“ And I forced her traipse all over the Frostbacks dressed in rags.” It was as if the other woman was still coming to a realization of how her haste and single-minded fervor had flavored the last day or so. It was as though she considered it a bad thing, but Ganina had just walked into the Inquisition, and it seemed that Cassandra’s urgency had been instrumental in making it happen, equipping them to stabilize the breach.

“ No. You didn't force me to do anything.” Ganina frowned. “I mean. Only a little bit. But, I was there. I wasn't worried about being cold at the time.” She shook her head. “It was understandable, and we all had bigger things to worry about than me being a little chilly.”

Cassandra scoffed and rolled her eyes, but handed her two bundles of cloth.

“ Here. We are nearly the same size. My extras should fit you.” She eyed Ganina up and down as though comparing their heights and widths. Ganina eyed the few items left strewn over the bedspread. A few small tomes and notebooks, a book that looked suspiciously like a dirty novel she’d read herself a few years ago, a whetstone and a few rags for cleaning armor.

“ This is your only other clothing?”

Cassandra shrugged as if to agree. “It will fit you.”

“ I can’t take your only other clothing. I don’t know when I’ll be able to replace it for you!” Ganina tried to hand back the shirt and pants.

“ Oh, I may have something!” Josephine exclaimed, standing and running over to a chest at the foot of her bed.

“ But you're so little!” Ganina said. “I'd rip right out of any shirt you gave me!” Josephine giggled.

“ Surely not. They all have lots of ruffles.” She gestured to the shirt she wore right then.

“ No. That would be a terrible idea for her to wear.” The Commander spoke and crossed his arms. Ganina had forgotten he was there. He shook his head. “It wouldn't fit under her armor, and it would probably get caught on anything.”

“ Got any suggestions?” She asked.

“ I might have a gambeson that would fit you in one of the crates of spare armor.” He scratched his chin. “My shirts would at least be too big on you instead of too small.” She couldn’t stop her grin.

“ What about a nice fur coat like you’ve got? It looks warm.” The big fur mantle he wore looked heavy and… quite appropriate for the weather and mountain wind that seemed to chase her everywhere up here. But he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“ See, Commander?” Josephine piped back up and patted his arm affectionately. “I told you it would look fine.”

“ Thank you.” He responded to the Ambassador before turning back to Ganina. “It  is warm. But I'm afraid it's the only one I have, and I won't be getting rid of it. My apologies.” He tilted his head in a little bow that made her grin.

“ None needed. A gambeson would be wonderful.” Indeed, she’d take anything offered.

“ Right. Um. Let’s go, then.” He headed out of the small room, and Ganina quickly tried one more time to hand Cassandra’s clothing back to her. The woman held up her hands a refused to take them.

“ No. I’ll not take it back.” She said.

“ Go!” Josephine shoved her away after the Commander.

She jogged a few steps out of the room until Josephine shut the door behind her, and then looked around for where the Commander had gone.

“ It’s outside.” He called from the exit where he stood waiting for her. She shivered as she thought about the icy wind that had chased her back inside.

“ Are you really that cold?” He asked, looking at her quizzically.

Ganina shrugged, but pushed the door open anyways as they made their way outside. He fell into step beside her and waved her through Haven and out the main gates. Apparently, this armor was stored outside the walls of the keep.

“ Well, where I grew up it was never this cold. And I’ve never really had a reason to come up into the mountains until I decided to come to the Conclave.”

“ Where did you grow up?”

“ Free Marches. Ostwick.”

“ Ah. I was recruited to the Inquisition from Kirkwall. I’ve heard Ostwick is nice, but I never made it myself.”

“ It’s definitely warmer than here. I’m not sure I would say much more to the positive about it.”

“ I see,” he responded, but she had a feeling that he really just saw that he shouldn’t pry. “Well then, what made you decide to come here? To the Conclave, I mean.” He asked.

“ My partner and I decided.”

“ Your partner?” he asked. Ganina knew that it was an odd word to use for someone like Ymbert, but she really wasn’t sure what else to call him. He’d never been her lover, but he'd been her equal and her partner in everything. Until yesterday. 

“ His name was Ymbert. He… I suppose he died at the Conclave.”

“ I’m sorry.” The Commander spoke softly, and that she did believe. “We lost many people as well.”

“ It’s all a damn shame. We were coming to join up anyways.” She said. “Ymbert and I had spent a few years fighting for coin, working as body guards for merchants, house guards for nobles, a little bit of mercenary work and the like. But we’d found these two brothers that we ended up taking care of, and I didn’t like doing that kind of work once they were with us.”

“ How old are they?” He asked.

The boys… They were with Ymbert. And Cassandra had said the whole Temple had been leveled. No survivors, Cassandra had said.

We found no one alive. I’m sorry.

Ganina felt herself stumble before she realized that she’d tripped. The commander’s hand was on her arm jerking her back up before she could fall into the muddy snow. Shit. But she had been doing so good not thinking about it, too.  

“ Maker’s breath, I’m sorry.” He muttered again. “I didn’t mean to bring up… Everything’s just…” He waved his hand vaguely around at everything surrounded them, but Ganina couldn’t help but follow his eyes as he glanced up towards the green gash in the sky. It was stable for now, but still angry and bright and  wrong in the early twilight. Where was that attitude of his from before? The one that she’d envied. The composure and competency she couldn’t quite manage for herself. She had been coping by just pushing this dread  down.  But… the boys.

It was as if she’d spent the last day just trying to keep a palm over a steadily bleeding wound. Every time she pressed down really hard, the bleeding would be invisible, contained. But as soon as she lifted her hand to peek at the damage below, everything she’d held down came gushing back up.  Her arms were trembling. Her legs were shaking. Maker, when was the last time she’d been this weak?

We found no one alive. I’m sorry.

The boys.

“ No, it’s not your fault. I just…” She hadn’t had time to really  think about it. She’d not yet had time to really probe the wound that she’d been delivered until then. Cassandra hadn’t apologized. It made ignoring it easier.

The boys.

We found no one alive. I’m sorry.

When she had asked Cassandra what happened, the information had seemed so abstract and unimportant. Yes, the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been destroyed. No, there were no survivors. Yes, there really are an apparently unending number of demons pouring out of the glowing green hole in the sky.

We found no one alive. I’m sorry.

It reminded her of the realization that at fourteen, she was homeless, destitute, and vulnerable. The fact that she hadn’t even thought about the boys until here, safe and sound and surrounded by strangers who were turning out to be kind, it felt too much like betraying them. Usually when she left them with Ymbert, she didn’t have to worry. And she hadn’t let herself worry. Fucking shit. But she hadn’t even questioned where they were? She’d never have been fit to care for children of her own anyways.

We found no one alive.

Coming here was her idea. She’d doomed them all.

The boys.

Little Colart would never perfect that fireball he’d been working on. Nikolous wouldn’t get to flirt with the little girl they met passing through Redcliffe. They wouldn’t get to grow up.

She realized that she was breathing fast. So fast that she felt light headed. She’d swayed again, and the blond man still had a hand on her, except now he was almost holding her up. His hand was in her armpit, squeezing her to his side. He had walked them… they were still outside. Were people screaming, or were her ears ringing?

No one alive.

She glanced around. Where was the screaming coming from?

But there was no one else. They were alone. There was snow on the ground. There was a big pine tree directly in front of her. They were outside the walls of Haven, standing in the big yard before the hill down to the lake. The snow was trampled and muddied where the soldiers practiced their drills with the Commander and his captains. A nug ran past, frightened by the sounds they made.

“ Take a deep breath.” The Commander was saying. “You’re in Haven, and you’re safe.” He kept repeating that, and she could barely bring herself to register the words. There was a scar on his lip.

“ I didn’t--” She shook her head. Why did she feel light headed?

“ Ganina, take a deep breath.” Why did he keep saying that?

Fuck.

Why hadn’t she done a better job taking care of them? Why the fuck had she brought them here?

No one alive.

“ Ganina.” He repeated again, his voice was sharp, suddenly. Those dark eyebrows were knit together and low over his pale eyes. That. That was it. That was the voice that intrigued her. The stern commander. She recognized something in the pale eyes that stared back at her.

Something clicked in her head, and suddenly she realized that she hadn’t even been breathing. For some reason, trying to inhale felt as impossible as the time she nearly drowned in the Waking Sea.

No one alive.

But she wasn’t drowning. The light wasn’t slowly disappearing in the black water above her. The setting sun cast orange shadows over the mountains, and the breach was green. Cullen’s eyes were golden like honey.

“ Stop it. Take a deep breath.” He snapped.

She sucked in a breath in a rush, and nearly felt her knees give out again.

He caught her, and she found herself gratefully grabbing onto his coat. The ground was muddy and icy, and she would have hated to fall into it. The fur that surrounded him was warm and comforting where she pressed her face into it. He smelled like armor grease and open flame.

“ Are you back?” He asked, setting her back upright from where she had swayed and slipped and fallen against his side. He kept his hands on her shoulders as if unsure if she’d stay standing where he put her.

Maker, that had been… awful. Inappropriate. Embarrassing. What even… what was that? She suddenly felt the tears that were freezing painfully against her cheeks in the bitter wind of the open hillside, and tried to scrub them away with the ashy remains of her tunic. It was so threadbare that it just spread the wetness across her face instead of cleaning anything up

“ I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Maker, I’m sorry.”

“ That’s okay.” His face still frowned, heavy and dark as the sun fell the last bit behind the mountain sides. He dropped his hands from her arms. Maker, it was cold. She tried to wrap her arms around herself against the wind. There was no shelter from it outside of the walls.

“ Can you make it over there?” He asked, pointing to a small cabin on the other side of the stables.

It wasn’t far, but her legs felt as fuzzy as her head.

She nodded. Her head still felt prickly, and the air seemed too thin, but her ears weren’t ringing, and she knew where she was.

“ I’m in Haven, and I’m safe.” She whispered. He nodded.

He stepped around her and put a hand on her back. It was warm against her skin there, even through the vest and shirt she wore.

“ You are.” He agreed. “Come on.”

She shuffled her way down the path with him. He kept a hand on her back, warm and comforting, even as he seemed almost wary to touch her. His fingertips only rested somewhere between her shoulder blades. Somehow it was grounding despite the smallness of the sensation.

The snow here was deeper and cleaner. Already the bustle of Haven sounded far away and nearly insignificant. As he reached the door and fished out a key from a pocket somewhere.

The lock clicked and he pushed the door open with one hand and gestured her in. The respite from the wind was welcome, even if the dark little cabin seemed rickety and drafty, and no fire was lit. She glanced around the dim shadows to what was clearly a storeroom. The two small windows let in just enough light to see the square, blocky outlines of storage crates and footlockers, baskets and barrels of food. The Commander fiddled with a torch and kindling near a sconce by the door. As soon as it crackled to light, he turned back to her and placed his hands on the pommel of his sword.

“ Have you ever had a panic attack before?” He asked quietly.

“ A what?”

“ Has… has that ever happened to you before?” He asked. She got the impression that he was worried she’d go funny again. That maybe she lost it like that often. But, Andraste’s tits! She’d never experienced anything like that before.

“ I… no.” She shook her head and sat perched on the crate nearest the torch and wrapped her arms around herself. The torch wasn’t letting off much warmth, but it was something. “I’ve seen other people go funny like that, though.”

He watched her for a few moments more before nodding.

“ It happens. I’ve…” He swallowed whatever he was going to say, and shook his head. “It helps when someone’s with you.”

“ Thank you. I… appreciate that.” Had he gone funny like that before?

“ It’s not necessary. I didn’t realize…”

“ It’s okay.” She realized it was. She needed to think about it. Needed to do something about it. At the very least she needed to name it. The question was still ringing in her head. “Colart… was fifteen and Nikolous was eight.”

“ What?” He asked.

“ You asked me how old they—how old they  were .” Fuck. “How old they were.”  Were. It still didn’t sound right, but she needed to name it until it became a kind of truth. “They were fifteen and eight.”

“ So young.”  He cast his eyes down.

“ Colart was a mage.” He looked up and tilted his head.

“ He wasn’t in a Circle?”

“ They were from Lothering, but their parents ran with the boys when he accidentally set a neighbor’s washing on fire. There was something about some boys torturing a cat, Colart got mad at them, the laundry didn’t make it.” She smiled at the way—no, it was only a memory now—of the way the boys fought over the story every time they told it. He didn’t seem impressed. She didn’t know why she was still talking. “Their parents died at the hands of bandits on the West road. We found the boys in Redcliffe.”

“ He would have belonged in a Circle.” The Commander said quietly.

“ He didn’t want to go.”

“ Mages should be trained.”

“ They should. He practiced for a little while with an apostate we met in Redcliffe. But… then the circles fell, and we heard of the Inquisition not long after. Ymbert and I wanted something better for him. For both of the boys. And ourselves. We all agreed.” But it had been her idea. Ymbert wanted to keep quiet and see how everything would play out, but Nikolous was so excited about the idea of joining a force to change the world.

She looked up at the Commander—she’d never seen a face look so sour.

“ The circles were… I was a templar. Before.” He blurted out. “Before I came here, that’s what I was. In Kirkwall. I was the Knight-Captain when an apostate blew up the Chantry and started all of this.”

“ Oh.”

“ I spent years of my life working against people who had done what you did with that boy.”

“ Colart.” She supplied. He would use his name.

“ Colart.” He repeated. “I did many things I regret. I did them for reasons I found sufficient and justified and  right at the time. But… I saw too many things in Kirkwall that made me question, and made me doubt. I would not have wanted your Colart to go to a Circle, either. Not as they are, or have been.”

She nodded. She wiped tears from her eyes again.

“ Maybe… I wish he was here.” She shivered and crossed her legs atop the crate. It brought to mind the night that little Colart had sat in her lap and read her a book about a lost mabari pup.

He wrung his hands against the pommel of his sword, before catching a quick breath.

“ But you needed gear.” He said, quickly turning to rummage through a crate. He shut the first and moved to a second, muttering to himself.

“ Thank you.” She said, as he searched through a smaller green footlocker.

“ For what?” He asked, not looking up. “I haven’t found anything for you yet.”

“ I don’t mean that.” She couldn’t help a small smile. “Not just that. I meant for your help at the ruins of the Temple. This. Giving me something to wear. All of it. You don’t have to, and I appreciate it. Oh, and I’ll give it back or replace it as soon as I can get off the mountain and back.”

“ Oh,” he said rubbing the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and gestured her in, “It’s… well, it’s nothing, truly. Part of that is my job, here. And there’s no need to replace anything.”

“ It doesn’t feel right.” She said. “I’ll have to repay you all somehow.”

“ Well.” He said, opening a footlocker and shuffling through it. “You seem to be able to close these rifts. Solas thinks you’ll be able to close the breach with some assistance. As far as I’m concerned, that will be repayment enough. Nothing else we’ve tried has done more than slay the demons spewing from the thing. I can’t keep losing people.” The leather of his gloves crunched as his hands curled into fists against the rim of the footlocker.

“ No, we can’t.” She agreed softly. His eyes glinted at her in the warm torchlight before he sighed and turned back to his task. Finally, he fished out a garment and inspected it in the light before handing it over to her.

“ You may want to… ah, wash that first.”

She took a look at what he had handed her. The quilted jacket was in enough of one piece, but the dark green fabric had a solid slash through the left sleeve, and a heavy stain of—what she hoped—was blood spreading from it. But, it was of a good size for her, and had plenty of ties left to get plate armor attached.

“ Thank you.” She smiled up at him.

Those pale eyes looked lovely in the warm flickers of firelight in the storeroom, and she thought back to what he had just said.

I can’t keep losing people.

She crossed her arms over the musty gambeson and studied him. Heavy shadows nestled beneath his eyes. His hair was heavily mussed like he’d been running his hands through it all day. His skin was pale and drawn, and his cheeks sunken under the faint stubble.

He looked rough.

“ Hey.” She frowned at him.

“ What?” He looked around for a second. “What?”

“ If there’s ever anything I can do to help you, will you let me know?”

“ I… just… if you can help us close the breach for good.”

“ Yeah,” she stood up and stepped a little closer to him. “I was going to do that anyways.”

“ I’m glad to hear it. We are in need of people.”

“ I understand. I still don’t know what happened exactly, but I’m involved now, and I’m going to do whatever I can to help. But I meant... if there’s ever anything that you need. Anything I can do for  you .” She finished lamely, and waved a hand, hoping he would understand what she herself wasn’t even sure she was trying to say.

“ Oh!”

“ No, not like that!” She exclaimed. “I just meant… help with… I don’t know, with anything really. I’m pretty good with a sword and a shield. I have to repay you somehow, and I've been fighting for years.” She tightened her grip on the gambeson, and thought back to his calm, intense eyes.

“ You don’t owe me anything, still.”

“ If you say so, but the offer stands.”

“ Do you need any other gear?” He asked. “There are a few other things in there that may help, but I’m not sure what you need.”

“ I think this will be fine. Thank you, again.”

“ Alright. Let me lock this back up and I’ll walk you back inside the gates.”

“ Sure thing.”

They stepped outside together into the cold. She shivered as soon as the night air hit her skin. She thought about putting the quilted jacket on, but her hand touched the stiff blood stain, and she folded it back up in her arms instead.

It was now fully dark, even though she could see the torches burning at the gates way off in the distance. Her stomach sank with an odd kind of disgust as the snow was tinged green in the light cast off by her hand. She didn’t have pockets, so she shoved her hands under her arms instead. Not only could she not see that awful green glow, but she wasn’t as worried of losing her fingertips to frostbite.

“ You really don’t have clothing suited for the mountains, do you?” the Commander asked, stepping away from the door.

“ I think  I’m  not suited for the mountains.”

“ Hold on.” He ducked back into the cabin before locking it and grabbed the torch off the wall. “Here. So we can see.” He handed it to her with a small smile. The flame cast off at least a little warmth, but its light also drowned out anything cast off by her hand.

When she heard the click of the lock followed by a few crunchy footsteps in the show, she stepped off towards the gates. She didn’t expect to feel his hand between her shoulder blades again, but nonetheless, there it was. The gentle brush of fingertips, only.

She wasn’t sure what she expected his face to say, but it wasn’t the small smile she got. His eyes looked a little less sunken, a little less grey. When she smiled back, he seemed to relax a bit, and the whole of his hand rested on her back.

Okay.


	3. Will Just Keep Coming Back Around

Why did they give her an entire cabin?

True, it was a small cabin. It barely qualified as an entire room; just enough for the little cot and nightstand. But still, the Seeker, Ambassador, Spymaster, and Commander were all shoved in the one room by the War Room. Was this some sort of atonement? An apology for being held prisoner and held suspect in the death of the Divine?

Cassandra cleared her throat from where she stood in the tiny doorway and handed her a small silk bag with a gold drawstring.

“It’s from Josephine.” She said.

“Thank her for me.” Ganina opened the little drawstrings at the top. “She gave me soap?”

“She felt badly that she couldn’t provide something for you to wear, and insisted I take these to you.”

“It’s very thoughtful of her.” She grinned at the other woman. “I appreciate your help, also.”

“You are welcome.” Judging by the wrinkle that formed in her nose, they seemed to be uncomfortable words for her to say. “There is a basin and kettle in here, but the large baths are in the Chantry. If you would like to use the soaps. Not that I'm  saying you need to bathe. Although… I think you do.” the Seeker glanced down at where Ganina's ratty tunic was covered in grime and filth.

“I’m sure I need desperately to partake in one or the other.” she grinned, hoping to allay some of the other woman's discomfort at the whole situation. Cassandra smiled appreciatively, and nodded.

“As do I. Very well. Good night.”

She bid Cassandra farewell, and realized that she was the only one she thought of by name.

She poked around the shelf in the wall and found the tea kettle nestled inside the basin. After filling it up with snow, she went to find a fire to boil it and take a sponge bath. She was too cold to wait to boil an entire bath full of hot water.

As it turned out, she needed four whole kettles to fill up her basin, and by the time she was done scrubbing ash and demon ichor off her limbs and face and body, the water was a murky brown. She dressed in the clothes Cassandra had given her and dumped it outside around the back of the cabin. It took another basin of water to get the quilted jacket scrubbed. With Josephine’s soaps—as she made use of her deliciously sandalwood scented gift, she started thinking of the other woman by name—most of the blood came out, but there was still a definite dark patch on the arm.

She set it out to dry over the small nightstand and sat down on the cot.

She cleaned the notched sword she had found in the valley and had been using since then.

She scrubbed blood and ash from the small shield, did the same with the pauldrons and arm guards she’d found.

Her boots could stand to be cleaned. She wasn’t sure how much longer they’d last her after all of this, but she could at least clean the worst of the death off them. She definitely needed to clean her boots.

After tossing the truly ruined clothing into a pile near the door she sat on the bed and looked around.

She should be exhausted.

She should be crying, or screaming, or rending her clothing.

Instead, Ganina just felt shaky, and wrong somehow. Jittery. The Commander had called it a panic attack. She wasn’t panicked, though. She maybe felt like she was buzzing, an odd energy coursing through her veins, even this late into the night. She wasn’t even really sure what time it may have been. It had been dark since just after Cassandra left. The itchy red feeling in her eyes indicated that she probably should have been asleep, though.

She rubbed her hands down the unfamiliar pants legs, looked around the unfamiliar—empty—room. She was too used to having people with her. Maker, Ymbert had been with her last night—or was it the night before? She couldn't even guess at this point. Somehow it felt like a month and yet also only a quarter  hour. And now she would never see his stupid ruddy face again. Weren’t people supposed to cry? When loved ones passed? She’d never get to see Nikolous grow out of that sullenness and finally talk to the little girl in Redcliffe. Juliana wasn’t that little though; Ganina had already been married when she was the same age.

Maybe she was tired. Too tired to mourn. To cry. She couldn’t even tell. All she could hear was a strange buzzing like the lowest note the Orlesian cellist who once tried to give her music lessons could play. Her stomach felt sour, but she couldn’t imagine eating.

Ganina didn’t feel particularly tired, but knew she should probably try to sleep. The sun would eventually rise, and she would be expected to help this Inquisition. Cassandra mentioned trips to the Hinterlands; Josephine spoke of allying with nobles, mages, and templars—Andraste’s tits: she even talked about King Alastair?

Ganina snuffed the lights on the little candles in their holders and slid herself between unfamiliar blankets. She would have been fussing at the boys for not sleeping like she’d told them.

 

 

Running. Screaming. Fighting. Hoping like hell that her shield would hold. Maker, she’s never fought enemies like this. Not so many, and not so horrifying. Ymbert is stopping behind every enemy he can, cutting open windpipes and slipping his blades into spines, and she’s keeping them occupied, letting them crash like ocean waves against her shield. The nauseating green air is full and heavy: of screaming and shouting, the clang and squelch of weapons hitting home, of children crying.

Children.

The boys. She turns away for a second to look for Nikolous and Colart. They’re being dragged away by one of those massive, towering demons—rage—one boy in each spindly paw. She runs, swipes her sword through a cloud of wisps that move to block her, and is waylaid by a terror demon. The bastard appears as if from nowhere, and she sees rage slip further and further away with her boys. She can’t see them anymore around terror, disappearing into hordes of shades and horrors.

She can’t protect them. All she can hear is her heartbeat. Every other sounds seems to fade into white noise as two of the things she cares most about are dragged further and further into was could quite accurately be described as hell. The smell of ash and the acidic death of the dying demons fills her nostrils, and she tries to breathe through her mouth, as she pushes through decayed buddies, but the taste is there; like vomiting when all that’s left is bile.

She barely notices she’s being attacked, and only manages to block terror’s blows by an instant. It swings fists with fingers too long, like clubs at her with arms too strong for their slimness. One bash knocks the edge of her shield down into her face and she screams, shaking her head to push off the pain, aims a kick for a bony green knee, and when she hears it snap, springs forward with a stab to its middle. A twist of her blade, and it falls. There are more shades approaching her, and she’s lost track of Ymbert. There’s blood in her eyes now. She pushes the shades back with a swipe of her shield, takes the head off one, and scans her surroundings for the shimmer of Ymbert’s body as he moves through the masses of demons in stealth. The blood doesn’t wipe away when she swipes at it with her unarmored forearm.

That’s when she hears him, though.

His sweet, soft voice screams like he’s being torn apart, and she realizes that he may actually be. Of all of the cursed ways to die. And she’ll be next. She sees him fall at her feet from nowhere. Amidst the din of screaming, shrieking demons and blows being struck and landed, she hears the thud of Ymbert’s greying head hit the foul dirt. There was white bone visible through his leathers, through his shirt and the oozing blood that covered his torso.

She looks up at the horror that struck him down, and as the demon strikes her directly in the face, she sat up from her tiny unfamiliar bed.

The tiny, strange cottage still holds echoes of her scream. Blood—there was blood all over her face—but when she swiped at it, there’s nothing there. She was still clean, and her sleeves still smelled like Josephine’s fancy soap. But there were demons all around her, closing in, strange leathery skin bumping against her shoulders. Even though she doesn’t remember dreaming it—as each breath passes through her lips, she can remember less and less of the dream—she remembers being smothered, trampled, buried under the weight of so many bodies that they block out all light and all of even the most putrid air.

She can’t stay in the little cot, and rips the blankets off and makes her way outside.

The air was frigid, which came as little surprise, but the biting of it at her bare cheeks and fingers grounds her. The air and the space help. But it was still too close, the Chantry too looming and tall and black and heavy, the other cottages in the square seeming to creep closer and crowd her.

She could leave. She could see the gates from here.

Ganina could run out right now, right through the wicket gate and down the hilly path around the lake. Even across the lake. The water was frozen and wide open.

So she did.

The main gates were locked for the night, the heavy timber bar locking them in place, but the wicket gate opened easily, swinging silently on its leather hinges, and she barely had to duck her head to fit through.

It wasn’t until she was halfway past the Commander’s tent that she heard him speak up.

“Are you alright?”

She stopped short and spun around to face him. Had she been running?

“Yes.” Her voice was too loud in the snow-heavy night. “Why?”

“Why are you awake? And running? Did something happen?” He stepped closer to her, but had his eyes trained on the gate she’d run through.

“No. Nothing happened.” She glanced around and realized how fucking foolish she was being. Again. This was not another—what did he call it—panic attack. She did not feel the same. She’d just had a bad dream… and bolted out of the village.

Andraste’s knickers. This could not become a habit. This was now the second time she’d acted like a complete dolt in front of this man. They’d likely think she’s useless. Bonkers. A cracked nut. He was the Commander. How could he let her go off on these missions to close breaches and help with the big one in the sky if she couldn’t even act like a normal and sane person? If she kept flying off the handle like this they'd be right: she’d think herself useless, too.

After that dream… she shuddered at the thought of facing more demons. What did she have left that they could even take?

“I swear I’m not normally like this.”  She said softly. The urge to run was fading, and she was left shivering again. He finally looked at her. The breach cast a sickly light off the ever-present snow clouds hanging in the sky, turning his skin sickly and pale in the darkness, but lighting the night better than a full moon.

“Nothing happened? No one… did anything to you? Said anything?” His eyes were so sharp, even despite the hour.

“No. No, nothing like that.” Was he worried that someone had tried to hurt her? Assault her? “I promise I can defend myself, Commander.”

“Okay.” He nodded and then gave her a small little smile. Somehow, it didn't sound patronizing. Just accepting. But his eyes were still lingering over her body, and it made her feel oddly… comfortable. Like a friend hugging you tight to their side. “After all that work to find you something to wear, and you’re up in the middle of the night running around… And are you just in socks?” He asked.

She glanced down at her feet as well.

“I’ve had a bad night.” It may have been an understatement, she realized, but that didn’t make it less true.

“I can see that.” He smiled but it was a little sad still. The corner of his mouth ticked up, but his eyes didn’t move. They stayed fixed on her face with that little groove dug in between his drawn brows. The shadows around his eyes looked almost like bruises in that awful light.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. She wasn’t sure what for, but he just looked so miserable himself. It almost made her forget the shakiness her dream left behind in her bones. “But wait, why are you up?” She asked, glancing around the empty training field they stood in. He looked smaller, and far less bulky now. She realized that it was because he wasn’t wearing those heavy armor pieces, just trousers and an untucked tunic, with that heavy red jacket tucked around his shoulders. He looked warm, at least. Ganina’s toes were starting to feel prickly in the slushy snow. “You were already standing out here when I—when I ran outside.”

“I might know a thing or two about bad nights, myself.” He said, his face just turned up at the sky.

“Oh.” He didn’t respond, just gazed down and her before looking back to the green gash in the sky. Was he out here just staring at the breach?

“You said all of your gear was gone? Everything?” He asked quietly. She could only nod. The way he said everything meant a little too much. Looked a few layers too deep. It didn’t really matter anyways. She couldn’t even bring herself to care about the things she’d lost. Sure, she was quite fond of her old sword: the weight and length was just right for her height. But the boys could never be replaced. Poor old Ymbert. She was sure that many others had to have lost loved ones. She couldn’t be the only one.

“I can offer you a dry pair of socks.” He turned away and started walking back towards one of the tents set up at the far edge of the field. She huffed a sad laugh, but moved to follow him. The bones in her toes creaked in protest.

“You don’t have to keep giving me things, you know.”

“True. But you’re going to want them. It’s easy to get frostbite up here.” He glanced back at her as he held the tent flap open for her. “Even for those of us who managed to put boots on.”

Was that a true smile on his face? It seemed so very incongruous with the incredibly serious and potentially world changing conversations she’d had with him up until that point, and she was startled enough to just look back at him. His face didn’t look quite so shadowed and dark with his eyes crinkled up like that in a smile. He didn't look anywhere near as old and tired. Hell, he looked like he might have even been her age. She realized that she was staring, and shook her head to force herself to take the two steps inside past his arm, and found herself in the tiny tent that he clearly  considered his living space.

There was a small lamp hanging from the top tent poles, a bedroll with blankets on the ground, and a makeshift desk consisting of two upturned crates.

“Nice place.” She said, glancing around. “Why do you fight the ladies on sleeping indoors, again?”

“This just seems to work better for me.”

“Do many of your soldiers sleep out in tents?” She asked. “It seems bloody cold.”

“I suppose…” He shrugged, then crouched down by a small back at the foot of his bedroll. “Most of them are Ferelden, though.” He turned his head back just enough so she could see his grin.

“Oh, so that is what’s wrong with you that you can stand all of this ice and wind?”

“No, we just know to wear shoes in the snow.” He grinned again and handed her a rolled-up pair of woolen socks. They were red, like his coat.

“Thank you.” She smiled back. “Again.” He nodded, and glanced at her hand. Suddenly, all she was aware of was the odd green light it cast off, so similar to the sickness that was in the sky outside. She was reminded of her dream even though the details were gone. She shoved it in her pocket to douse the light it let off.

“I hope you’ll stay.” He cleared his throat. “With the Inquisition, that is. We’ve recently received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. But none made quite the entrance you did.”

“I came to help anyways.” She said with a shrug. “Before any of this happened. I would have been signing up—I guess with you—in a few days, regardless of what happened at the Conclave.”

“I am sorry for those you’ve lost.” He stood back up and she could hear his knees click.

“As am I. But… I suppose we’ve got to do what we can to keep others from having to go through the same.” She looked down at the socks in her hands. “I think I’d do anything to keep someone else from having to feel this way.”

He was suddenly standing very close. His brown leather gloves were worn to soft suede on the fingertips. She was suddenly very aware of her heartbeat in a way that she had not experienced before. Or at least not in a very long time. The mage in Denerim.

The realization was like a boot to the back of her knee. How could she even be thinking of anyone like that right now?

No. It had to hear be a physical reaction: she was lonely, sad, exhausted, panicked, and he had been nice to her. Twice. And calm and quiet and accepting. And tall and broad shouldered.

Stop it, she cursed herself. I was just a reaction to stress. Just a passing thing. Like when she first met Ymbert and wouldn't leave him after he bought her a meat pie.

Except the Commander gave her socks. Cullen--she corrected herself as she glanced back up at him. Cullen gave her socks.

And an anchor in the storm. And a blood stained gambeson.  And a hand on her back as she panicked. And why did she think his eyes were so lovely? And was did she feel tingly and warm around the collar?

She realized that she'd been staring, but he was still watching her own fingers turn the socks over and over. The stupid green light from her palm turned the colors muddy and brown. She shoved her hand back in her pocket.

“Um.” She swallowed. Why was her mouth this dry? “Please don't give me anything else. I swear I’ll repay you, for all of this.” His growing stubble was darker than his blond hair.

“There’s truly no need. They're socks.” he really did grin, then. And how does a man get a scar like that on his lip?

“Yes, I need to.”

“Then who am I to stop you?” He smiled again, but that little divot between his eyebrows was gone.

Oh, but he certainly could be called handsome. Without the seriousness and the sad smiles he had a lovely set of long blonde lashes, and his nose was even a bit pink from the cold.

“I should go.” She said quickly. Seriously, why was her heart racing like that? “I should go back inside, before I change socks.” Oh, but that was stupid. Stop talking. “So I don’t get these ones wet, too.” Why could she not stop talking?

“Smart.” He nodded and grinned again. As soon as he moved to open the tent for her again, she suddenly felt as though she could breathe.

“And,” She turned back to him. “I hope you have a better night.”

“You too, Herald.”

When she made it back into her tiny cabin, her eyes were watering from the wind, and her feet ached all the way up to her knees from the cold. But she laid out the wet socks on the ground by the still smoldering brazier, and slipped on the red ones that the Commander--Cullen had given her. They were too big by a mile, and the heels ended up somewhere on her calves. But something about the wooly warmth made her smile, and as she rubbed the warmth back into her toes, she thought she might be able to sleep.

Not a good night—not by a longshot—but certainly better, now.


	4. Turning, turning out the door

It had been a long, _long_ time since Ganina had used a needle and thread.

She felt rather dumb, plopped before Varric’s fire trying to fit the thread through the eye of the needle. Still, she’d managed to sleep a little bit after all, and Cassandra's clothing was a hell of a lot warmer than her old rags, and it fit well enough, even if the pants only looked alright because the ankles ended somewhere under her boots. It was already shaping up to be a better day than the last several.

Although that wasn’t saying much.

The requisition officer had even been able to find a breastplate and solid wooden shield for her. Her boots were her own, fire-scarred and rough looking, but functional.

If only she could remember how to thread a damn needle.

“So where are you from?” Varric asked, sitting down across from her.

“Born in Ostwick.”

“As, a fellow Marcher, then!

“Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

“Kirkwall.”

“What made you join the inquisition?”

“The Seeker did.”

“What… Cassandra?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize… I didn’t think that you and she were on terribly good terms.”

“Well. We're not. When you say 'made me' she literally made me. She essentially kidnapped me and held me hostage.”

“Fuck. Really?” Varric nodded in response. “Why? What for?”

“I was… pretty close with the Champion of Kirkwall, and she wanted to interrogate me.”

“Damn. About the Chantry there?”

“Yeah. I knew the guy who blew it up.” Varric sighed.

“Wow. You’ve been a busy gent…” She raised an eyebrow at him. Why had Cassandra let loose a comrade of the man who had blown up the Kirkwall Chantry?

“Me? No. I wasn’t involved. Anders was working alone. He has possessed, but didn’t seem to care, or mind, really.”

“You know, I had heard he was a mage, but that was about it. I hadn’t heard much more about it other than that the Chantry was destroyed. Was it really bad there beforehand?”

“No. Look, despite whatever you heard, Kirkwall isn’t that bad. It’s my home, and I love it there. I miss the city and my friends.”

“Why don’t you go back? Are you still…” Cassandra was around him an awful lot. She glanced around before whispering to him. “Are you still a prisoner?”

“No, nothing like that.” He poked at one of the logs in his fire with a heavy stick, and wiped down his mouth. “I just got here and… I’d like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this… Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” She glanced down at the green light sparking around the mug of ale in her hand. She switched the mug over to her other hand and stuck her left in her pocket. “Even if I wasn’t attached to this, I’m not sure I’d have been able to leave after the Conclave.”

“So, you know how I ended up here. But what brought you into all this? You don’t seem like the type to be involved with the Chantry, and you’re not a mage.”

“No, I’m not. We heard about all of the chaos going on, heard the Inquisition was trying to put it all to rights, and we got interested. When I heard that they were denounced by the Chantry… I was in. We came to the Conclave to try and figure out how to join up.”

“We? When they pulled you out of the ashes, you were the only one there.”

“Yeah.” How in the hell was she going to sleep at night without him there? Why did her mouth keep tasting like the ash Ymbert was now buried under?

“Shit. Sorry. A lot of people lost people. It’s probably too much to talk about right now.”

“No. I think… I have to. If you don’t mind. It happened whether I want to think about it or not. I’m—I used to run a small… I'm not sure if you could call it a mercenary band. It was just me and my partner, Ymbert. Every now and then we'd pick up a few others to get a job done, but we were taking care of these two younger kids for the last six months, maybe. Older one was taking care of his little brother when we found them. The family started running when the youngest’s magic started showing. We found the boys standing around Redcliffe one day, and couldn't leave them.”

“Wow. I’m sorry, Freckles.”

“That’s life, isn’t it?” She asked. “There’s always something terrible happening. We just have to do our best with what’s left behind, right?”

“That’s probably a pretty good way of looking at it.”

“Yeah. It gets difficult reminding yourself of that over and over, though.”

“Well, you’re damned right, but there’s nothing for it right now but to have a drink." He stood up and grabbed her a mug to fill it from a small cask he’d dragged over at some point.

“Isn't it a bit early?” She asked. “I mean, it’s still morning.”

“With the world ending? Who cares?”

“Fair enough!” She laughed and took the horn mug he offered.

“To old friends and new.”

“No, to _new_ friends.”  She insisted. If she kept looking backwards, she’d never make it through any of this.

But truth be told, the longer she sat talking about nothing with the witty dwarf, the more right she felt. Never would she have thought that she’d be relearning how to mend clothing once she had joined the Inquisition, but of course she was. The more negative side of her also reassured her that of course she’d be alone again as well. That wheel of fortune would flip everything around for her.

“So, since Cassandra is out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“Yeah, well. Too many people died up there, while I was trying to do the right thing. I think I need to get it of here and actually go do the right thing."

“A lot of good men and women didn’t make it out there. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“Tell me about it.” She said. She supposed that everyone would have lost someone at this point. Why else were they all here? Despite everything, the melancholy was tempting.

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Varric apologized, shaking his head.

“I’m not sure what happened, though. I’m not sure why I’m here. Luck?”

“Yeah, good or bad, though?”

“Who can say?” She asked, forcing a smile. “If I speculate about it today, I won’t have anything nice to say. Ask me again later, sometime.”

“You got it, Freckles.”  

They both sat in silence once she finally got her needle threaded and started working on the gash in the sleeve of her new gambeson. She was nearly done stitching as the sun reached the top of the sky. She tied off her thread and thanked Varric for his company before taking all of her newly acquired gear back into her way into the tiny, drafty one-roomed cabin she’d been assigned to. She was still a little surprised, given the apparent lack of indoor space in Haven, that she’d been given such a luxury as opposed to a tent. It didn’t really matter, as she’d be leaving again in the morning, and she had asked Josephine to let someone else use the little building while she was gone.

For now, she had a busy day planned. Someone had told her that there was a blacksmith in the village who may be able to make her a new sword to the measurements of her old one, and she’d washed and mended whatever gear she was able to secure from her comrades, the quartermaster, and the small merchant stall near the gates.

She needed to be ready. Cassandra wanted them to be ready to leave the next day, and Ganina was excited. The thought of getting on the road felt a lot like home, and she needed some sort of stability.

And she hoped she'd sleep better under an open sky than in a tiny wooden cabin.

She didn't anticipate sleeping well in there again in just a few hours. The idea of shutting herself in to sleep inside those tight walls just brought back that feeling of being buried. The smell of death and decay.

But Harritt said he could probably make her a new sword with the details she could recount of her old one, he would just need the materials, so she took down a list.

And then Adan gave her a list of his own of supplies he was requesting from off the mountain.

The requisitions officer who supplied her earlier in the day even sent a runner out past the walls to put a list in her hands.

As she made her way into the Chantry, she realized that they all knew she was heading to her meeting to finish planning her trip into the Hinterlands. They all wanted in. They had what they wanted off the mountain, and she could get it to them.

Well, she’d do her damned best. It was the least she could do.

When she stepped into the war room, Cassandra was the only other one present. She looked up from the maps on the table with what Ganina was beginning to suspect was the woman’s usual frown. The Seeker was always so serious, it seemed.

“Hello.”

“Herald.” Cassandra--actually, she seemed more like the Seeker, here, in  in daylight, and in full duty mode; hands on hips and no-nonsense eyebrows on. “I’m glad you’ve arrived; we have much to discuss.”

“I agree.” Ganina nodded. “Actually, I was hoping you and I could find some time to talk before we get on the road.”

“Certainly. Is something wrong?”

“Not at all! It seems that we will likely need to work well together. Hopefully, for a long time to come, and… it seems like we may have quite a bit in common with each other.” Ganina realized she was rambling and shut her mouth. She watched the other woman consider her declaration for a moment, and seem to accept that it was sound logic.

“I suppose that is reasonable. It does occur to me that I don’t truly know much about you.” She folded her hands together in front of her and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Nor I you. Not really.” Ganina smiled. “I’d like to change that.”

“Very well. Well, where are you from?”

“Leliana didn’t tell you?” Ganina thought the Spymaster would have provided dossiers to everyone in charge, here.

“She mentioned Ostwick, I believe?”

“Yes. I was born in Ostwick, and that’s where my family is, but I’m not sure if I’d say that’s where I’m from. I left when I was still very young. Young in more ways than one.”

“I can understand that.”

“Really? What about you? Where do you call home?”

"That's hard to say. I was named Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, but I am fully seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman, and was with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right Hand, carrying out her order to form the Inquisition. I… I don’t know where I would call… home, though.”

“Wait, so you’re Nevarran royalty?”

“The Pentaghasts are a very large clan. Half of Cumberland could say the same.” Ganina noticed how she seemed to try and dismiss that fact after she had introduced it.

“Did you join the Seekers to get away, then? Or are you on good terms with your family?”

“I do not visit, if that is what you mean. It was a life worth getting away from, my lady.”

“Please don’t call me that. ‘My lady’. It’s not accurate.”

“But you were a Trevelyan, and they are nobility, correct?”

“Yes, that is true-- _they_ are--but these days, I’m really just myself. I haven’t been part of that family for many years.”

“I see. I wonder how much of our situations are similar.”

“Probably a fair amount. I know that I’m happier on my own, though. If you’ve had problems with your family, I hope you’ve found the same. You have the Seekers, and now the Inquisition. Isn’t that better?”

“I don’t know whether I would consider it ‘better’ or not.” Cassandra tilted her head, lips pursed. “I felt called to pursue my path in life. It is true that part of that was a desire to get away from my family. I suppose that is better, in a way.”

“If being here and not there makes you happy, I believe it certainly is.”

Cassandra nodded. “I suppose so. You have many secrets, though. What family do you have?”

“My mother was from Orlais. My father was a Marcher. I had one younger sister, one older, and five brothers.”

“So you have many siblings also.”

“I did.”

“You keep using the past tense, what does that mean?”

“I suppose that’s why it seems like a secret, isn’t it?” Ganina asked. “It isn’t… it isn’t really a secret, but it’s certainly distasteful, and I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Is that why you prefer to be on your own, as you said? If you do not mind me asking.”

“Of course. I brought this up, didn’t I?” Enough time had passed between now and her time at the estate that she could be okay with discussing her childhood. Dorner would forever haunt her, and that might stay a sore subject for a very long time, but she would reclaim as much of her history as she could. “It's not really about being alone. I really hate being alone. It was more about getting away from the people who put me in that situation. I mean I was married off at fourteen. I.. displeased him, and then I was set aside by both families.”

“Displeased him?” Of course the _Seeker_ would dig in the spot… of course she would leave just enough of that secret uncovered to spark her interest.

“That’s the part that I don’t like to talk about.”

“I see.” The way that Cassandra’s head tilted reminded Ganina of how a hunting dog--a pointer--would sniff out a silent bird.

“I… maybe I will. Talk about it with you. Someday. But I hope that tells you enough for now. It was… the hardest time of my life.”

“I can understand that.” Ganina did believe that. “I can respect that boundary, Herald.”

“Ganina, please. Are we not trying to become better friends?”

“True. Ganina.” The Cassandra smiled. “It may be good to call someone a friend.”

“But tell me about your family. Certainly, you must have fond memories of some of them?” Sometimes a change of subject was good.

“I was always fond of my brother, yes.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He is...gone, now. If you do not mind, I would prefer that we do not talk about that, Herald. I mean Ganina.”

“I can respect that.” Ganina repeated. Hopefully Cassandra took her sad smile as the apology it was meant as. Wrong subject.

But just then the door opened, and the rest of the council bustled in.  

Cullen and Leliana appeared were both replete with information; railing off lists upon lists of the destinations they should visit once away from the mountains, and details of the resistance they would likely face. Ganina found it helpful, if more than she could absorb at once.

It was exciting, planning a trip with such an intelligent team; they were all so knowledgeable. And the resources and information they had access to was like nothing Ganina had ever been able to get before.

“You’ll be on foot just getting to the Hinterlands about ten days, and then ten days back. You’ll be gone probably a month and a half.” Cullen said. “We’ll provide you with some money for taking on supplies and food.”

“I’m not much for hunting. My… Ymbert used to do that part. I’m a terrible shot with a bow and arrow. No patience.” Ganina answered.

“Varric and Solas can handle it. Varric is quite a good shot, and Solas has survived on his own for many years.” Cassandra supplied. “We’ll probably only take a bit to resupply on potions.”

“I can cook, at least.” Ganina grinned. "I don't know how good it is, but it's at least edible."

“And I can eat. So all should be well.” Cassandra answered with a smile.

“I admit, I am sad that I cannot join you. I miss being on the road.” Leliana cut in. Ganina found herself wondering how old the redhead was. Her face was always so shadowed beneath her hood. What was she hiding? The woman sighed before continuing. “It may be a few months before you’re back. I have some agents stationed at the major crossroads; please send regular ravens back to us so we know your status.”

“We can send supplies to you, but we’ll likely need you to help get supplies back to us, as well. Being this far into the mountains will be a different challenge. I'm sure you’ll be given a few requests before you make it out the gates in the morning.” Cullen added.

“Are you kidding? I've been given lists.” Ganina grinned.

“Just do what you can.” He shrugged. “Be safe out there.”

“We will.” Ganina answered. She had no idea why she found herself looking up at him and feeling sad that she’d be gone from him for more than a month. “We’ll be back as soon as we can get away with.”


End file.
